Dirt Poor
by Calista Fitzgerald
Summary: a poor and abused girl is blamed for murder... a rescue would be much appreciated
1. My Story

well here's the first chapter, please read and review!

Chapter 1: "My Story"

We were dirt poor. And I don't mean that we didn't have much. I mean we had no money. We had nothing. Papa only worked the rare odd job, but instead of giving the little money he did make to Mama, he spent it on the bottle.

Papa sure liked his drink. He loved his drink actually. He would go to the tavern after earning just a few coppers and they would be gone within minutes, leaving him only thirsty for more. He begged off of the others in the taverns until they gave in and bought him a drink. After he was drunk he would stagger home, back to our shack.

The shack was just as is sounded. Lord knows how it was still standing—it was nothing more than a pile of sticks. There was no floor, just the hard packed dirt. The table was a rotting piece of wood with three legs, the third propped up from some odd pieces of wood I had found outside. There was Papa and Mama's bed in the corner and mine in the opposite corner—a ragged sheet pulled around it for what little privacy that served.

Papa would ramble into our yard and stumble through the front door. Mama and I would usually already be in bed asleep, dreading his return. He would rant and rave when he did come in that door, yelling at Mama for everything—her cooking, her looks, everything. He would hit her—slap her around. Usually I would stay in bed, behind my hanging sheet, crying softly, hoping he wouldn't hear me.

Sometimes he would remember that I was there though. He would come over to my corner and proceed to hit me, punch me, kick me. He liked to yell. He called me an ugly, filthy whore who wasn't worth anything. He had called me worse. I tried not to cry over this. But it was hard.

Papa was not my real papa. He was Mama's husband yes, but that was all. He had once been a sailor—a dashing one I am told by Mama. She said she loved him. According to Mama, when he was gone on one of his voyages, a pirate ship came into our little town. She had met one of the greatest men she had ever known, she told me. She had been in town that evening, married only six months. She had been at her friend's house and on her way back to her home she was attacked by a strange man. He ripped at her clothes, hurt her. She cried out—she feared she would die.

It was then that a shot was fired. The man went down. She screamed at the bullet hole in his back and turned to the gun that fired the shot. The man holding it was a dandy, dressed in expensive silks, a great feathered hat, and supple leather boots. He was fair skinned with bright red hair, and even in the failing light she could see his bright blue green eyes shining in the moonlight.

He put the gun back in his belt and walked over to her, helping her to her feet. "Are you alright?" he asked softly.

"I… I think so… thanks to you," she murmured. I have heard that my mother used to be the most beautiful woman in town. Though now you wouldn't know if because of Papa… She used to have long, thick, shining black hair, deep brown eyes, and olive skin.

"I am glad to be of service, miss," he replied with a smile. Mama says it was the smile that did it. He was so handsome, so strong… so impressive.

"You must let me fix you something to eat, sir…" she said.

"That is not necessary, miss. I can go to the tav—"

"I won't hear of it. You _will_ come with me. I must thank you proper," I don't know if either of them realized what she really meant by that at the time. However, he went along, as she led the way to the small house that had been her dowry when she married Papa. They lost it a few years later over his gambling debts—I barely remember the beautiful house with its wood floor and glass windows.

Mama did make the man dinner—she was a wonderful cook. The man was hungry—he ate all she gave him and then some. When he finished Mama began to clear away his dishes. The man came up behind her and began to kiss her on the neck. Instead of pushing him away, she turned to him and kissed him deeply on the mouth. They came together that night. Mama said she learned what love was that night. The man stayed three days. When he finally left Mama cried. When he asked her to come with him, she shook her head with despair, telling him of her husband.

The man didn't want to leave; he continued to beg her to come. She refused and he left. She made him promise never to come back because of her husband. He kept his promise.

A couple of months later Mama found out she was to have a baby—his baby. She panicked. She was afraid of what Papa would do. She waited tormenting herself with the anger that was sure to come. Papa had been gone five months—there was no way she could convince him the baby was his.

When Papa returned, Mama was beginning to show. She told me he yelled like a mad man when he found out. He stormed out of the house and went to get drunk. When he got back much later that night he slapped Mama around, told her she was a tramp, and then he went to bed with her.

From that night on Papa always beat on her. There would be good patches where he would be good and nice, but he was usually mean and vicious.

I was born a few months later and Mama named me Caitlyn. Papa was angry—not only because I was a worthless girl, but also because I had a bright red fuzzy cap of hair. My eyes were a deep blue green—Mama would tell me they exactly matched my real father's. Of course she never told me that Papa was not my real father until I was about twelve. I was so happy to find out that he wasn't my pa that when he came home that night I told him with a grin, "You're not my real pa."

Mama was horrified. He slapped me across the face for that, knocking me onto the floor, clutching my aching face. Mama rushed to defend me before he could kick me as I lay there, but he just turned his anger onto her. He yelled at her for telling me and then he proceeded to beat her while I screamed.

The next few years passed much the same—Mama and I were miserable in our pitiful shack. Often, Mama and I would go hungry while Papa was out drinking. We were hard pressed to find decent clothes—we usually had little more than rags. The food we did have was usually old and moldy. This went on until my eighteenth birthday.

My Mama had scrimped—she wanted my birthday to be special. She told me I was turning into a lady. That afternoon—Papa was out, drinking most likely—she presented me with an emerald green dress.

"Do you like it?" she asked with a hopeful smile.

My eyes welled up with tears. She looked distressed at my reaction, "No Mama—it's wonderful. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen…"

She smiled wide at this and presented me with a new corset to go along with the dress. "Do you want to try it on, Sweetie?" I nodded and stripped down to my old threadbare shift. Mama tied the corset on—I was so thin that it was of little use. I pulled on the dress and smiled as she held up the shard of a mirror we owned for me to see myself. I looked… decent I thought… maybe even a little pretty.

"You look so beautiful…" she whispered. "There is so much of your father in you." I smiled at this. I looked very little like my mother—even my skin was a freckly mess that burned easily. I hugged her, and murmured, "Thank you Mama."

It was at that moment that the door swung open and Papa staggered in with a bottle of what appeared to be whiskey. "What the hell is going on here?" he slurred. "You spent my hard earned money on a dress for the whore?"

Mama was angry at this. She hated when he called me that, "You haven't given me a cent in years Henry. You know that very well."

It didn't take much to set him off. He came at Mama with the bottle still in his hand and as I screamed, smashed it into her beautiful face. She immediately fell to the ground—I feared her dead. He grabbed a knife off the table next to Mama and as I rushed to her side, he plunged it into her chest. I threw my weight at him desperately trying to get to Mama—to somehow save her.

She was gasping for breath—near dead I could tell. "Oh Mama," I cried.

I could barely hear it—it was incredibly soft, "Deliverance." That's what I think she said anyways. However, I didn't have much time to ponder the question, I was forcefully pulled to my feet. Henry, as I would call him from then on—he was not worthy of any respect—hit me across the face. He then shoved me across the room so I hit the wall with such force that the wind was knocked out of me. I must have hit my head, because I blacked out for a few seconds. When I awoke he was right in front of me. "Damn you! You stupid lousy whore! You've ruined my life!"

"You've ruined it all yourself," I spat out at him. "You're a murderer!" I wanted to kill him. I wanted him to die like he had killed Mama.

He grabbed my wrists and held me down. "You think you're so fancy now—strutting around in your fancy shit. Maybe I'll take you done a few notches."

As I struggled against his much larger bulk, he held my wrists with his much bigger hand as he used the bloody knife from killing Mama to slice open the front of my new dress. He then sliced through my corset and shift. He used the string from my corset to tie my hands together, which he tied to the leg of the bed. I screamed for him to stop. He wouldn't. He fondled my breasts, kissed my mouth. He kept the knife in his hand and held it to my neck. He told me he was going to kill me if I struggled. He was angry and frustrated as he forced my legs apart and pushed his way inside me. I screamed louder, praying to god for help.

He made me sit up and held the knife to my neck as he ordered me to gratify him. Tears streamed down my face as he forced me to open my mouth. After this he entered me again.

The tears had dried when he finally fell asleep in a drunken heap beside me. I didn't want to die, but yet I did. I worked my hands against the sturdy corset string around my wrists until my wrists were raw and bloody. I felt the cord snap. I grabbed the knife from his hands and proceeded to plunge it into his back. He was lying dead in a pool of blood as I walked over to put on one of my old dresses. I kissed Mama's face before I left, and glanced over at the emerald dress drenched in blood a few feet away.

I walked out the door, vowing I would cry no longer.


	2. Captured

hmmm… no reviews yet… That's depressing… please cheer me up and review.

Chapter 2: "Captured"

I walked down the street in a haze. I didn't know where I was going—I had no idea what I would do. I walked through the streets, passing no where in particular. I lost track of where I was walking after a while—I walked in circles, passing the shack again. I collapsed on the street—in front of the bloody shack.

I awoke to a rough hand on my shoulder. "What are you doing on the street Miss?"

The first thing I saw was red. At first I panicked, struggling to get away, thinking of the blood from the night before. He tried to calm me and as my vision cleared I saw it was a man—a soldier. It was that wealthy one—the commodore. Norrington if I remembered correctly.

"I haven't done anything. He did it. He—he was horrible. So horrible," I babbled on about Henry. Who knows what I even said.

The commodore had some other soldier with him. He looked at me with curiosity and asked, "Do you live in that house?" He motioned to the shack.

I bit my lip. "Not anymore."

He called a couple of his soldiers to him. "Get her parents."

I was barely thinking about what that meant when I heard it. When the soldiers opened the door and rushed in, the commodore gave me another odd look.

"Commodore!" One of the soldiers called. "Commodore, I think you should come see this."

The commodore gave the other soldiers a nod, and said, "Watch her." They nodded in assent, and said, "Yes sir."

The commodore walked inside the shack. I still sat on the ground not moving. I heard a cry of, "Good God!"

He rushed out of the house and ordered his soldiers, "Take her to the jail."

"Jail?" I murmured. I didn't think I had heard properly. "You think I did that?"

He didn't respond. Instead, the soldiers grabbed hold of my arms and pulled me off the ground. It took little effort to restrain me, though I gave little fight.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked when they pushed me into the cell.

The commodore looked at me with disdain, "Only the lowest of scum would murder her own parents." He turned his back to me immediately.

"I didn't kill my mother! You think I would do that? What proof so you have?" I yelled after him.

He turned on his heel and asked sarcastically, "And I just suppose that you are covered with blood because you had _nothing_ to do with it?" He walked off.

I finally looked down at myself. Crusty blood covered my hands, arms, and legs. The dress, though it was a different one, had blood across the front—probably from my hands. I rubbed my still bloody hands against the already bloody fabric of my course homespun dress—trying to rub the blood away, to rub the night away.

My wrists still ached. They had stopped bleeding, but they were raw and red. They were also dirty. I knew I needed to wash, or my various cuts would get infected. But at that moment I didn't care. I slumped against the dirty grey wall and closed my eyes. I thought only of death that moment. I would see Mama if I died, this thought alone made me wish for it.

I sat against that wall for what seemed like hours. My eyes grew heavy as the light faded in the cell window, and I fell asleep. I dreamed of many things that night. The most vivid dream, however, was that of my mother. I was walking along a white path—I could see something golden in the far distance. Mama suddenly appeared. She stepped in front of me and embraced me.

"My dear, sweet Caitlyn. You don't want to go this way," she whispered in my ear.

"Oh yes I do Mama. I miss you so much—I want to be with you," I responded. I looked at her face which was so close to mine. It was Mama all right… but she looked…younger. Her olive skin was free of the lines that had appeared over the years. Her hair was back to its raven black, no gray hair dared mar its perfect beauty. Even her brown eyes had life in them again.

"You have so much more life to live, my darling. You must go back. You are not welcome here yet." She gave me a little shove.

"But Mama…" It was too late. I felt myself fall through the brilliant white walkway. My eyes fluttered open to the morning light shining in through the tiny barred window. I groaned and shifted my aching body. There was a bucket of water sitting just inside the cell. A guard must have brought it in while I slept.

I crawled over to the bucket and dipped my arms into it. I winced as my wrists hit the cool water—but I did my best to clean them. The water was a brownish red when I finished. I still felt hopelessly dirty however. But I also felt thirsty. And hungry. I chastised myself for dirtying the water so fast. I could have drunken some first.

I heard a door slam. I hoped it was some food and something to drink. I sighed when I saw that it was only a guard—without food. She had already put him out of her mind when she heard the cell door creak open.

He made a low grunting noise and roughly grabbed her from the ground, aggravating her already sore muscles. "Watch it," I said angrily. He didn't offer an apology—he roughly pushed her in front of him, keeping a fierce grip on her arms.

"Where are you taking me?" I demanded of the man. I didn't like his grip on me. I didn't like the control he had as he pushed me along.

"Trial," this was all he said the rest of the way. I was ushered into a small courtroom. There were very few people there—Commodore Norrington, the man I assumed was the judge, a couple other soldiers from the day before, and a man I recognized as one of Henry's drinking buddies.

The guard pushed me to the front of the courtroom. I stood there awkwardly as the judge—an older man with a white wig—regarded me with…disdain.

"State your name," the judge said in a bored voice.

"Caitlyn Harris… Sir."

"Well Miss Harris… I see you have done a very bad thing. Also, you will address me as your honor."

"Yes sir. But I swear—he deserved it. If you only know what he did to me!"

"I very much doubt that your parents _deserved _to be murdered, Miss Harris. Mr. Harris was a respected sailor, your mother, his dutiful wife," the judge said, looking at some papers.

"Well of course my mother didn't deserve to be murdered! And he was no respected sailor! He was a drunken ass who took his problems out on my mother and me. He hasn't even sailed in years!"

"If your mother did not deserve to be murdered, Miss Harris, why did you do it?" the judge asked.

"Me?" I was shocked by this. For some reason the questioning thus far hadn't registered in my head. They thought that I killed Mama and Henry. They thought I murdered Mama. Mama.

"I didn't kill my mother," I stated.

"You killed your father?" he went on.

"He wasn't my father, but yes I did kill Henry Harris. He killed my mother! He—" I couldn't bring myself to tell the judge what he had done to me.

"Unfortunately for you Miss Harris, it only takes one murder to count as a murder…" he said, not looking at me. "I sentence Caitlyn Harris to hang from the neck until dead at… noon tomorrow. That will be all."

I was speechless as I stood there. Hanged? Me? "But judge, you don't understand. Henry killed my mother! He would have killed me. I was defending myself."

The judge was already leaving the chamber. I was roughly grabbed by the guard once again. I looked at Commodore Norrington in his crisp red uniform, the other soldiers, Henry's one drunken friend. "You can't just… kill me."

The guard dragged me, "Commodore, please! I swear, he would have killed me if I hadn't done it. It was so horrible. Why won't you listen to me?" I was yelling now. I was forced back to the cell—but this time it seemed all the bleaker. Though I had imagined death as a good thing the night before, I knew now that I didn't want to die. I knew that this was not how my life was supposed to end. I felt tears sting the back of my eyes. I remembered my vow though—no crying.

I sniffled in the cell, wishing a miracle would occur. When the figure stumbled down the jail steps, followed by a couple of guards, I never imagined that it was my miracle.

"Easy on the goods, there" he said with a drawl. His hands were bound in irons. I found my eyes traveling up his body, taking in his long dark hair, full of dreadlocks, and other exotic charms. The braids of his beard intrigued me, and I felt myself wondering what they would be like to touch, what he would be like to touch. I gasped at the dirty thoughts in my head and looked down at my hands.

The door slammed in the cell next to mine and I looked up at him as he sat down on the filthy ground, his back against the wall opposite to me. He took awhile to notice me sitting there, watching him dumbly.

"Well, well, well," he said as his eyes finally landed on me. "I am to share these fine lodgings with a beautiful lass. It is a great shame that we should have these metal bars between us."

I gasped and with what was left of my dignity, said, "I am no whore."

He looked doubtful of this as he said, "And for what other reason would a lass such as yourself be in jail?"

I raised my eyebrows in defiance. "Not that it is _any_ of your business…sir… the charge against me is murder."

It was his turn to raise his eyebrows. "Who did you murder, lass?"

"Well if it's murder to kill the man who killed your mother then I murdered my fath—my mother's husband."

He looked at me with greater interest, "I'd call that common sense myself."

"Well they call it murder in Port Royale," I replied with resignation.

"What's to happen to you lass?" he asked now.

"I'm to be hanged tomorrow. Noon."

"No that won't do at all… not at all…" he said more to himself than to me.

"I don't see there is anything to do about it. After all, you're locked behind these bars just as I am.

"Not for long of course. I am a very powerful man in these parts… Within minutes I am sure, you will see my daring escape from these walls."

I looked at him with disbelief. The man was crazy of course. Minutes later I heard an angry voice coming from the top of the stairs.

"You cannot come down here, Mr. Turner. Being the married to the governor's daughter doesn't give you the right to interfere in—"

"I don't give a damn about rules and regulations right now! Get out of my way."

A young, and extremely attractive man appeared by the cells, the guard following behind. "Jack!"

"Well it's about time, whelp. I was beginning to think you forgot about me," Jack replied with grin. So his name was Jack…

The guard looked unsure. "Mr. Turner, I have to ask you to leave right now. You can't be here."

Mr. Turner rolled his eyes and drew his sword, holding it to the guard's chest. "Unlock the cell and let him out."

"I really—can't—do that…" the guard stammered, looking very nervous now.

"Oh but you will," Mr. Turner said, pressing the blade harder against the guard. The guard hesitated only another second and then produced the keys. He unlocked Jack's cell and Jack stepped out and motioned for the guard to step inside behind him. The guard obliged after handing Jack the keys.

Jack walked over to the wall where he retrieved his pistol, sword, and the rest of his effects. He and Mr. Turner were talking about someone named Elizabeth, and they looked ready to leave the jail.

I cleared my throat loudly. Jack and Mr. Turner turned towards me finally. "I believe you offered to save me before did you not… Jack?" I asked in a tentative voice.

Will turned to Jack with knitted brows. "I can't help a real criminal escape Jack. Why did you give such a foolish promise?"

"She's not a real criminal, whelp."

"Oh no? Isn't she the one who killed her parents?"

"I didn't kill my parents," I said. "I killed my mother's husband who killed her. Please Mr. Turner—I don't want to die."

Mr. Turner sighed loudly. "I can't do this Jack—I have a family now. I can't jeopardize—"

Jack looked annoyed and put the key in the lock of my cell. The guard in the next cell looked even more annoyed, "You can't let 'er out!" he yelled over. "She's to die tomorrow."

Jack ignored him and took my hand, pulling me to my feet. "Come on lass."

I gave him a grateful smile and followed them out of the building.


	3. Chapter 3

Wow. I haven't updated since September and I feel incredibly bad about that. Only three reviews, but they are much appreciated! (Besides what could I expect after taking a five month break??) So here you go—I'm hoping I can get to some more writing in the next few days (college has been draining these last few weeks). Anyways, I am done with my rant—please read and review. I really enjoy reviews—my three first reviewers, thanks so much for reviewing. I have to say I had almost forgotten about this story until **Fae2135**'s really nice review last month. And even though it took almost another month for an update, thanks so much, who knows when I would have gotten around to updating if not for that review. So thanks, I hope you enjoy it, and I hope to have another chapter up soon.

**Chapter 3: The Pearl**

After we left the jail, Mr. Turner kept looking around, an uneasy look on his face. "Jack this is going to cause a lot of problems…" he murmured. "You two need to get out of Port Royale. They will be searching for you in a matter of minutes."

"Will," _so that was his first name_, "just shut up. Please," Jack said as we walked through back alleys.

"I don't even know why you came back here! You're a pirate! You can't just waltz in here for a visit."

"But that is exactly what I did. I didn't know it was against the law to visit my dear friend and his beautiful wife and congratulate him on his marriage."

Will did not look convinced, "Jack, we both know you didn't just come here to see me and Elizabeth."

Jack gave him a smile and turned to me and said, "No I came to rescue this lass."

"Oh come on Jack, we both know you didn't meet her until today. No you were up to something today and now you have gotten me in trouble. How am I supposed to explain this to the governor?"

"Get Lizzy to explain to him."

"Jack just leave. Please. Don't come back. And please," he glanced at me, "take her with you."

"I'd be glad to whelp. We will be on our merry way. You can go home to your blushing bride now," he said as we walked to a small row boat on the shore.

Will's face softened a little, and he said, "Take care of yourself Jack."

Jack grinned at him, revealing a couple of gold teeth. "I'll be seeing you whelp."

We climbed in the boat and Will helped push it farther into the water. Jack began to row, and with in minutes we were far away from shore.

"Where exactly are we going?" I asked him. It seemed incredible that I was out of the jail. I was not going to die tomorrow—I hoped not anyways.

Jack looked up at me and smiled wide and pointed to a ship on the horizon. I followed his gaze and saw the magnificent ship in the distance. I sucked in a breath and smiled at him. "Is she yours?"

He gave me a smile of pride, and beaming said, "That she is lass."

I had learned to appreciate ships throughout my childhood, even before Mama told me about my real father. I loved to watch them come in and out of port. I loved the big warships, the enormous trade galleons, and the quick sloops. When Mama told me about my real father, I became even more interested in watching the ships, wondering if one day my father would come back to Port Royale and take my mother and me away from Henry. I asked Mama what his name was and what his ship was called but she would never tell me.

"She is beautiful," I murmured. "What is her name?" He gave me an appreciative grin and replied, "That's my Pearl. The Black Pearl." I had heard of the ship. I remembered it from the stories of the curse, which some said had been broken by the infamous pirate, Jack Sparrow. This was him then; this was the notorious pirate I had heard talk of for over ten years. I looked at him with a newfound appreciation.

He continued to row and I watched as we sliced through the water with seemingly little effort on Jack's part. It wasn't long before we came up along side his ship and a rope was dropped from the side. I grabbed it and was quickly pulled up by the crew, who then threw it back down to Jack.

Once on the ship, Jack gained a new authority. He called to his crew to make the ship ready to sail—they would sail to Tortuga to pick up supplies before traveling on. I looked around the bustle of the pirates as they pulled ropes and went about their duties and felt out of place.

"Is there something I can do… Captain?" I asked. Captain seemed the appropriate title now that we were on his ship.

Jack glanced at me as if he had forgotten he had brought me on for a minute. He studied me for a while, and then seemed to make a decision, "You can wait in my cabin." I raised my eyebrows at this, and he only gave me an innocent look. "Look love, you will only be in the way on deck—my cabin in the most comfortable place for you to be."

He did have a point, I supposed. I nodded in acquiesce and he pointed to a door at the forecastle. "Right through that door Love."

"That's the end of the line for you lass."

"Tortuga? You are leaving me in Tortuga—the pirate, whore filled, capital of the world?" I asked Jack incredulously.

He said dismissively, still looking at the port in the distance, "I got no place for you here lass."

My features hardened as I thought about two nights ago when I was standing on the forecastle watching the sun sink into the sea. I was enraptured in the sight and when his warm fingers touched my icy cold shoulders I jumped and a shiver ran through me. "You're cold," he whispered by my ear.

I was dressed in a gown I had found among the treasures pillaged from various ships. It was a long flowing dress of midnight blue silk—the finest thing I had ever worn. I imagined what it would have been like to have grown up with a different gown of this finery for every day of the week.

"The air has a chill in it," I murmured, still staring out into the distance.

"I thought it was rather warm," he responded, his lips next to my ear. His hands were stroking my arms, causing another shiver to run through me, goosebumps forming on my skin.

His hands moved to my waist, ever slowly moving up my body, until they rested on my breasts. My breath came quicker, "Jack…" I murmured. I could feel my body respond to him. This was nothing like the violence that Henry had taken with me. I wanted this; I needed this to confirm to me that I didn't always need to be afraid.

I grabbed Jack's hand and turned to him, leading him to his cabin. Once the door was closed behind us, I turned to him, and pulled his mouth to mine. It was by far the most incredible feeling I had undergone until a few minutes later. We stumbled over to the bed where he hoisted me onto the bed, still kissing hungrily. His hands had made their way under my gown, and as he pulled off my garments, I could feel the rise of panic that he would see me—all of me.

I broke the kiss, and murmured, "Jack, blow out the candles please."

He looked at me with his brow furrowed, "Why lass? You're beautiful."

I swallowed nervously, "Please."

He proceeded to blow out the candles throughout the room, until only the moonlight gave us anything to see by.

We began to kiss again—I undid his belt and pulled his shirt over his head. I lay on the bed with nothing on as he kissed my lips, my neck, breasts, stomach. I could feel myself want him more. I murmured his name over and over. His mouth returned to mine, and I could feel him against my legs. I obliged him by spreading my legs, and after what seemed forever, he plunged himself into me. I gave a yell of pleasure, and in the light of the moon, I could see his smile of satisfaction at his ability.

We continued to make love for a long time after. We both fell asleep in exhaustion. When I awoke a few hours later, the room was extremely dark. I was wrapped in Jack's arms, which I made my way out of, trying not to wake him. I lit a candle and walked over to the mirror. I looked at myself there, the candle below me. I didn't know who the girl who looked back at me was. I was not who I was just a few days ago. I had changed so much.

"Lass, how in bloody hell did that happen to you?" the voice from the bed asked. My eyes widened as I saw him sitting in the bed, looking at me. I couldn't answer him. "How did that happen to you?"

I bit my lip and was about to blow out the candle when he came up behind me. "Don't," he whispered. "The man who killed your mother did this to you?" His hands stroked my back and nearly every other surface of my skin from my torso to my legs that was an ugly black and blue color.

I felt tears fill my eyes as I nodded yes. He took the candle from my hands and set it on the table. As the tears fell down my face, he kissed me. He kissed the tears away and took me in his arms. He lifted me up and brought me back to the bed, where he proceeded to kiss me—to kiss me everywhere.

But now as I stood there now I seethed. Since that night he had ignored me. Now he was just going to let me off in a port. And not just any port—that port. Tortuga. The only thing I would have to live off of there would be myself.

"Why there?" I finally asked him.

He didn't turn to me as he said, "I need to get you off this ship." It was true the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow didn't want her there. He was afraid of what she had done to him—he had cared for her in those hours. He had thought he was… no he wasn't. That was why he had to get rid of her now, before it went any farther.

"Am I so vile to you then?" I asked him ungraciously. "Am I just some plague you need to get rid of now?"

"You just need to go, that's all there is to it," he murmured.

I felt tears sting my eyes as I remembered giving myself to him, how wonderful it had been to be his. And now that he had gotten what he wanted he was disposing of me. "Fine. I can get on by myself. I don't need you." We did not say goodbye.

They dropped me off in Tortuga the next day. The crew all went to drink away their money, but Jack stayed on the Pearl. I walked off the ship, looking up at him with regret. I could not believe I had let myself be seduced by him. It wouldn't happen again. From now on I would be in charge.

I walked along the streets for a little while, knowing I would have to go somewhere—I didn't like the looks the men on the street gave me. I had taken the blue silk dress with me, though now I was dressed in a plainer gown of green. I looked at the various brothels with contempt. I didn't know how I could bring myself to sell myself for money. I had left the small bag of gold Jack had given me the day before in his room. It was then that I truly realized he viewed me only as a whore.

review please:)


	4. Lord Richard

I really loved all the incredibly nice reviews I have received—I appreciate your feedback. Jack is going to be gone for a bit, but fear not, he will return within a few chapters. Anyways, enjoy!

Chapter 4: Lord Richard

I pulled on my red silk robe after getting out of bed. The room was taking a chill and I pulled the chord for the slave, Anna. She arrived shortly after, and I asked her to tend to the fire.

As she walked over to the marble fireplace, and built up the fire with the iron tools with the fancy gold scrollwork on the ends, I found myself realizing how far I had come. My slave wore finer clothes than I had just a few short years before. _My slave_. I had never approved of slavery, but Anna was a personal gift from Lord Richard, and it would have been very disrespectful to refuse his gift. The bed was empty now, but it had not been the night before. Lord Richard and I shared many nights in this bed—and in many other areas for that matter. He always rose very early, however, as he had a great deal of business to tend to. What irked me the most of his early business dealings, was that he always woke me when he woke up. "I just need a few moments of your time, my dear," he would whisper in my ear, as I tried to block out his voice and sleep. He would enter me quickly then, not giving me any pleasure, but only taking his own.

Of course, I could not object. That was what I was here for, was it not? I found myself thinking about my situation again. No, I did not work in a brothel like all the common women of the street, but I was still just a toy for a man. Lord Richard, the second son of a duke was my benefactor. That was the polite term for what he did for me anyway.

When I came to Tortuga three years before, I had been very scared. I was afraid to enter a brothel—I didn't want that life. I didn't was to be poor—living from man to man—each night of dirty, rough sex just to pay for food, clothes, and a place to sleep in a dirty smelly room above a tavern. No. I made up my mind I would not live that way. I wanted more.

That was when I saw Lord Richard. He had some "less than legal" business dealings in Tortuga—all of which added to his enormous wealth. I could see from his expensive coat with shiny gold buttons and his supple looking leather boots that he was a man of means. I later learned that he owned an enormous estate in Antigua. He owned hundreds of slaves—nearly all of them used to farm his vast acreage of sugar.

He was no longer a young man—I mused he must be nearly sixty years old. His dark hair was sprinkled with gray, and his face showed many lines of age—though it was still a handsome face. He was tall and he held himself with pride, and he looked at the dirty tavern with distaste—and gave the dirty man he dealt with an even more distasteful look. He had a black man with him—I didn't realize until later that he was the lord's slave. He was dressed in a beautiful suit of dark blue—though I doubted his shiny buttons were gold like his master's. His boots were also nearly equal to Lord Richard's.

I sat in the corner of the tavern, eating a meal which though not horrible, was far from good. Several men had come by, trying to sit in the seat opposite mine, and giving me sly looks. I glared at them and yelled at them to leave me alone. So far they had all complied.

I looked back at the wealthy lord and sighed—four or five women dressed in outrageous dresses—if you could call them such. They tried to tempt them with their goods—own of the women pulled down the top of her gown to give him a better look. He gave the prostitutes a look of disdain and finished business with the other man. As he left the tavern, he glanced at my pitiful self in the corner, and after pausing, he tipped his hat to me and left. My eyes widened in surprise and I felt a small smile come to my lips.

After finishing my dinner, I left the tavern and stepped out onto the street. It was dark by this time and I felt the nervous feelings come back over me. I had nowhere to go, except a whore house. I couldn't imagine dropping my dress for some stranger in front of all those people. I drew in a breath and realized that was all I could do. There was nothing else for an eighteen year old girl with barely any money, alone in Tortuga, to do. I walked down the street, thinking I would get a room for the night—alone. I had enough money for at least one more night of peace, I supposed.

As I rounded a corner, a man grabbed my wrist, and murmured, "How 'bout it? A quick fuck 'fore I have ta get back ta my ship?" He showed a couple brass coins and pushed them into my bodice, touching my breasts as he did so. This brought back the memories of my Henry's brutal rape.

"Let go of me!" I told the man through clenched teeth.

"I already paid ya." He pushed me against the side of the building and began to lift my dress up.

"Stop it!" I could feel my heart racing now. Tears were running from my eyes. "Stop!" I screamed and I struggled against his strong arms. I thought all was lost when the sailor suddenly went limp. I gasped as dropped down to the ground, a knife deep in his back, blood streaming from the wound.

The wealthy man from the tavern pulled out the knife and wiped the blood on the sailor's dirty shirt. I looked at the man in wonder and whispered, "Thank you."

The man took my hand and kissed it, "It was my pleasure miss. I am sorry for you're trouble. What is a lady such as yourself doing on the streets of Tortuga by herself?"

"I have no place to go my lord. I… I have nothing." I didn't know what to say—my thoughts all fled from my head.

"It's dangerous out here. Why isn't your husband taking care of you?" he asked.

"I have no husband, sir. I am truly alone," I said with a sigh.

I saw the tiniest hint of a smile come to his face after I said this. However, it was gone in an instant and I wasn't sure if I had only imagined it.

"Where shall you go miss?" He asked with concern.

I didn't know what to say. I swallowed hard, and murmured, "I have no idea." It was then that the idea entered into my head. I had heard of women who attached themselves to one man—one wealthy man—and lived off of his generosity to them for services rendered. And though I did not relish the thought of being at a man's disposal whenever he wanted me, the idea was not altogether bad.

"Well we can't have a young beauty like you alone on the streets of Tortuga. I hope this is not too forward miss… I cannot leave you on the streets by yourself. I could offer you a ride on my ship—I could bring you back to your family."

"I have no family sir," I replied. "I am alone in this world." Now why was I telling him about myself? He could be as bad as that sailor—only wanting to use me and then he could easily throw me back to the streets.

"The offer still stands…" he said. He offered me his arm and asked, "May I ask your name miss?"

"Caitlyn. Caitlyn…" I bit back the Harris. That was never who I was anyway. "Spencer."

"Well Miss Spencer, I am Lord Richard Livingston. I would be pleased if you would accompany me." It wasn't until then that I noticed his servant behind him. The man stood at attention, seemingly waiting for his master's slightest need. I pulled my eyes and attention away from the slave and looked back at Lord Richard. I put on a smile and took his arm and he escorted me to his ship.


	5. Beautiful Things

Sorry once again for the huge delay in updating. My finals are the next few days though, so once those are done, I'm hoping to write a lot more. Now I should get back to studying, enjoy!

Chapter 5: Beautiful Things

That day had been a little over three years ago. I had my own cabin which, though not large, was very comfortable. I had expected Lord Richard to come for me that night, but he only asked me to eat dinner with him that night. After we finished eating, he escorted me back to my cabin, and again kissed my hand. The rest of the voyage passed in the same fashion.

I began to question his reasons for bringing me aboard his ship. Was he truly only being a gentleman and had no further ambitions towards me?

We finally arrived in Antigua and pulled into the large town of St. John. Though not incredibly large—fairly smaller than Port Royale—it was a sizable town with a governor and a fairly large military force stationed there.

A lush carriage was waiting near the docking area and Lord Richard helped me in. I had never been in such a magnificent piece of equipment—there were beautiful blue curtains on the windows as well as soft cushions on the seats. Lord Richard rode on a large stallion in front of the carriage, leaving me to my thoughts.

It did not take very long to arrive on his property. His holdings were enormous. House was a vast understatement, I soon learned. The manor was three stories high, and spanned the length of several ships. I wondered why one man could possibly need so much space.

The carriage stopped in front of the gigantic building and a man opened the carriage door and helped me out. Lord Richard was by my side seconds later. "Would you accompany me inside, Miss Spencer?"

I smiled and took his arm. The front entry alone was larger than my former home. It was vast and beautiful—oriental rugs covered the shining marble floors and the paneled walls held beautiful paintings. Lord Richard ordered a maid to show me to the Rose Room and I was swiftly led away by the woman—she had light brown skin and was dressed in a dark blue dress, a starched white apron covering it. She led me up the stairs and brought me down a corridor and opened a door for me, entering after me. I looked at the room in wonder. It was decorated in shades that varied from light pink to a deep rose red for the bed. The bed alone was beautiful—it was extremely large, and covered with a canopy and the scarlet velvet curtains. A large marble fireplace stood in the corner—far grander than anything I had ever seen before.

"I will ready your bath, Miss," she said and dipped a curtsy as she left the room. I stepped inside the bathroom and gasped. I had never seen anything so beautiful. A huge tub—again of marble—sat in the corner—various bottles of soaps and fragrances sat next to this. I fingered the crystal bottles with wonder.

Several men—each carrying two buckets of steaming hot water—entered the bathroom, interrupting my thoughts. They arrived one more time with more water, leaving me with the maid in the bathroom. I shyly pulled off my gown and handed it to her. She looked at it with… disdain? The gown was definitely getting a bit worn and dirty from wearing it so often—but I didn't think it was horrible. After I stalled for a bit longer, hoping she would leave me to bathe in peace, she came up behind me and pulled my shift off. My eyes widened in surprise as she ushered me to the tub—full of bubbles and a strong lavender scent—and proceeded to scrub me with a bar of scented soap.

I made not a sound throughout this entire process, and eventually began to enjoy the hot water. It felt wonderful to wash away all the dirt that had been impossible to wash away with a small bucket of cold water and a sponge aboard ship. I vaguely wondered if my dirtiness had been what kept Lord Richard in his own quarters on his ship at night.

The maid wrapped me in towels as I came out of the water and I sat on a small bench in the bathroom, where she proceeded to comb through the tangles of thick red hair. She led me to the fire in the next room, which I sat in front of to dry and stay warm. I watched as another maid brought in a gown that seemed to match the bed—it was also scarlet red velvet. The first maid began to help me dress in undergarments previously brought up. She put the corset on and tied it tight, making me gasp for breath. I wondered why women even bothered—I felt light headed already.

The gown was brought and the maids helped me put it on—taking nearly twenty minutes to fasten the long line of buttons along the back. After the maid did my hair, and brought me in front of the mirror to see myself, I gasped in shock. I had rarely ever seen myself in a mirror, so that was shocking enough, but to see myself with my hair pulled onto my head with a few curls free, and the gown highlighting my curves—this was even more shocking. I felt my face go red with embarrassment at the extremely low neckline of the gown.

"Is it supposed to look like this?" I asked nervously.

The maid gave me a knowing look, and said in a slightly accented voice, "Master Richard will like it."

My eyes widened ever so slightly. I had known Lord Richard's intentions from the first time I had met him, but it seemed strange to me that I was scrubbed, dressed, and primped now just for his pleasure. I wasn't so sure if it was what I wanted anymore. But with one more look around the expensive room, and the two maids fussing with my gown and hair, I felt a small smile come to my face. Lord Richard was the key to my future. I could never dream of living as well otherwise. I looked at myself in the mirror one last time and walked over to the door, through the hallway, and down the stairs to meet with him.


End file.
